


Magic Hands and Quidditch Jerseys

by MidnightChardonnay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22841641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightChardonnay/pseuds/MidnightChardonnay
Summary: Pansy Parkinson didn't need a man, wouldn't ever be beholden to a man, and would never fall in love with a man. Especially not a Weasley.Sure, keep telling yourself that, Sugar.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26
Collections: Love Fest 2020





	Magic Hands and Quidditch Jerseys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns/gifts).



Written for Fairest of the Rare's Love Fest 2020

In response to a prompt by DarkAngelofSorrowReturns

Prompt: Pansy/Charlie - Quidditch Jersey

This fic is unbeta'd and all mistakes are mine alone. I do not own Harry Potter or any characters or places therein. 

__________________________________________________________________

Pansy Parkinson looked out over the top of her sunglasses, one sharpened fingernail held just between her teeth as she ran her tongue back and forth across the edge. 

The summer heat was starting to let up, but she still fanned herself with her other hand, though it wasn’t the weather that had her all hot and bothered. 

She watched as he lifted a hand up, letting the creature sniff him, waiting for approval to enter the pen keeping her safely tucked away from where Pansy sat. His long, muscular arm was tanned from hours spent outdoors, the hair sunbleached to a golden blond. 

Her tongue froze as she watched the animal allow him access to her space. As he dropped his arm slowly, the veins and tendons running along his forearm moved and flexed, she felt herself inhale sharply in reaction, remembering how it felt to run her nails along the lines of his lifeblood pulsing through him. 

Sex and masculinity oozed from every pore of his toned body. From the way his hair flopped onto his forehead, sheen of sweat on his chiseled face, to the muscles flexing as he moved gracefully among the most dangerous animals to walk, or fly, this earth. 

The Quidditch jersey he wore, the only reminder of his days at Hogwarts, fit him like a second skin, tightly encasing his lean form, hinting at the pecs and six-pack abs that she knew he had hidden under the slick fabric. 

Though it was the wrong colors, red and gold versus her green and silver, she loved seeing him in it. Another reminder of his athleticism, strength, and ability to toss her over his shoulder and carry her to his bed like she weighed nothing at all. 

Charlie Weasley was a whole different species of man, and she was immensely grateful to have the current view of him. 

He turned and looked at her over his shoulder, as though he could hear her thoughts, feel her eyes on him. He smirked somewhat shyly at her, and turned back around, not wanting to take his eyes off of the dragon he was currently working on taming. He’d made progress with her, but he knew from experience never to turn your back on one of the creatures, no matter how much you thought they trusted you. 

Finishing the current training activity he was working on with the animal, he re-emerged from the enclosure, wiping the sweat off of his forehead onto his shirt with the back of his arm and walked toward her. 

“Hey sugar,” he called out to her, the lazy drawl in his voice had thickened with his time away from England. 

She had never loved pet names before, but the way the words fell off of his tongue, he could have said anything and she still would have felt the heat blooming in her belly, a slight dampness between her pantyless legs. 

She both hated and loved that he had this effect on her. Pansy Parkinson was not beholden to any man, didn’t need a man, wouldn’t ever fall in love with a man, much less a  _ Weasley _ .

So she thought. 

Recognizing the look in her eyes, he smirked. 

“I could always change my name, you know. I don’t have to keep this one, if it is  _ so _ offensive,” he said playfully. He knew she would never ask or expect that of him, if she did ever fall for him. Which of course, she wouldn’t. Pansy Parkinson didn’t need a man. 

But she wanted a man. She wanted Charlie Weasley.

She wanted him like she’d never wanted a man, or woman for that matter. She had never been picky when it came to gender. Pleasure was pleasure, regardless of who it came from. 

But this man. His hands were magic. The touch of his fingers in her hair had her melting into his body, turning her into a puddle of girl-goo who was no longer able to string words together to make a sentence.

Through her initial protests, his tongue was divine intervention. A quick flick of the velvet muscle silenced her mouth, set her skin on fire, and had hot, wet honey dampening her thighs. When he parted her legs and licked the liquid from her slit, fire and sin cracked and spread through her with a pleasure so intense, so hot, she felt her body pulse and throb just thinking of it. 

A few feet away from her, and closing the distance quickly, he reached down to the hem of his Quidditch jersey tee and pulled it up and off over his head in one fluid movement. The rippling muscles of his abs and chest had her eyes glued to him, licking her lips again, her mouth suddenly both too dry and too wet, and thinking was hard and oh - 

He had finally reached her, leant in and kissed her sweetly. 

“Sorry I’m all sweaty. How about we go back to the cabin and I’ll shower, and you can make us some tea?” he winked at her, reaching for her hand. 

Graciously, she took the proffered hand, allowing him to pull her up. 

He never did make it to the shower, not right away at least, and not alone. As soon as they walked through the door, she had pulled him in for a desperate kiss, all thoughts of tea and cleanliness vanishing as their desire for each other escalated. 

Wrapping his arms around her hips, his large hands encasing her arse, he lifted her up and spun, her back making contact with the wall as he trailed kisses from her mouth across her cheeks to her ear, down her neck to her breasts. With her body pinned between the wall and his body, he reached under her to undo his trousers, pushing them down just far enough to pull out his hardened length, and push himself inside of her hot, eager body. 

She watched his eyes dilate and darken as he entered her, knowing that he loved when she didn’t wear panties. He usually ended up just ripping them off of her anyway. 

She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, until he tipped his chin up to look into her hazel green eyes. He held her gaze for a long moment, taking his time to fill her completely, allowing her body to relax and stretch to allow his thick cock in, while also allowing a moment to compose himself so he didn’t spill his pleasure into her body and embarass himself. 

When she was full seated on his cock, he lifted her up, then thrust back into her swiftly, watching her eyes glaze and roll back, a sigh falling off of her lips, silently thanking the gods for delivering this man into her life and her body. 

He continued to fuck into her, watching her full breasts bounce as he filled her and retreated, again and again. He braced his knees against the wall under her as his pleasure mounted, thankful for the years of climbing up and down dragon enclosures and building the strength in his thighs to keep standing, the way he knew she liked it. 

He reached up with one hand, wrapping her black hair around his fingers, and pulling her head gently back and to the side to expose her slender neck to his teeth. He bit down on that spot that she loved, felt her cunt tighten around his cock, a renewed wetness surrounding him, as their bodies moved together. 

He pulled her hair a little harder, bit in a little deeper as he fucked into her again and again, her breathing labored, her body quivering. 

Her body coiled tighter and tighter, his balls pulling up closer to his body, both of their pleasure rising, climbing, growing, before finally reaching their peak and tumbling down the other side, her calling out his name, and him moaning his pleasure into her neck and he came inside her, still feeling her body pulsing around him, pulling every bit of his orgasm from him. 

They held each other, still against the wall, until their breathing returned to normal. Holding her still, her long legs wrapped around his hips, he carried her to the bed and lay back with her on top of him. 

Together they napped the rest of the summer day away, forgetting all about showers and tea until well after the sun went down, and they finally showered together, gently washing each other’s bodies in an intimate, sensual meeting of bubbles, hands, and tongues. 

Pansy Parkinson did not need a man. She would not fall in love, especially not with a Weasley. 

_ Sure,  _ a voice in the back of her head whispered,  _ you keep telling yourself that, Sugar.  _


End file.
